


Bring It On Home To Me

by harploon



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Cheating, Dancing, Drinking, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Jazz Music, M/M, Pre-Canon, Slow Dancing, sam cooke, they be like: gay, whizzer teaches marvin how to dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 02:40:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18651253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harploon/pseuds/harploon
Summary: “Dance with me,” Whizzer purrs, pulling the shorter man up to his bare chest. Marvin laughs uncomfortably, releasing Whizzer’s hands.“I don’t know how,” he admits, his eyes darting over to the clock leaning against the wall to his left, resting on a below a dim lamp. His stomach tightens.The clock continues to tick loudly after he looks away, the hands slowly turning from 11:48 to 11:49.He runs a hand through his mussed hair absentmindedly as he begins to walk towards Whizzer’s bedroom. Whizzer reaches out to him, drawing him closer by the waist.“That’s ridiculous. Everyone knows how to dance.”





	Bring It On Home To Me

**Author's Note:**

> i been thinkin bout this for a phat minute ....... whizzer said gay rights! anyways i hope yall like it uwu

Whizzer drops the needle onto the ridge of the record, fidgeting with the knobs of the old record player to get the song to play. Eventually, Billie Holiday’s voice rings out, only mildly scratchy. 

He stands with a smile, moving to stand over the half-naked man on his couch, reaching his hand out to him. Marvin takes it, looking up at the taller man above him with a crooked grin.

“Dance with me,” Whizzer purrs, pulling the shorter man up to his bare chest. Marvin laughs uncomfortably, releasing Whizzer’s hands.

“I don’t know how,” he admits, his eyes darting over to the clock leaning against the wall to his left, resting on a below a dim lamp. His stomach tightens.

The clock continues to tick loudly after he looks away, the hands slowly turning from 11:48 to 11:49.

He runs a hand through his mussed hair absentmindedly as he begins to walk towards Whizzer’s bedroom. Whizzer reaches out to him, drawing him closer by the waist.

“That’s ridiculous. Everyone knows how to dance.” 

Marvin shakes his head mutely, but lets himself be pressed against Whizzer’s warm chest, who drops his head into the crook of the older man’s neck. 

“You didn’t dance at your wedding?” the darker haired man teases against his skin, and Marvin tenses in his embrace. 

“I was blackout drunk at my wedding,” he says bluntly, prompting Whizzer to laugh. 

“No better time to learn than now, then, huh?” 

Marvin shakes his head again, this time with a distant smile, “I didn’t realize it was still 1940.”

Whizzer snorts against Marvin’s neck, “You want somethin’ else?” He detangles himself from the shorter man as moves towards the record player again. 

He fingers through rows of records in a flimsy cardboard box next to the chipped coffee table, and Marvin leans against the cold counter behind him. Whizzer lifts the needle with careful fingers. He returns the record to its cardboard cover and back into the box, pulling a new album from the rows. He places the record onto the table, gently placing the needle where he wants it before standing again. Marvin raises an eyebrow at the sound of the quiet guitar, but lets himself be drawn into the taller man’s arms again nonetheless as Sam Cooke begins to sing.

Whizzer guides Marvin’s left hand onto his shoulder, resting his own on Marvin’s exposed shoulder blade. The shorter man shivers slightly at the contact, attempting to cover it with a cough. 

“Why am I the girl?” 

Whizzer snorts, twining their fingers together as he begins to move, “Do you know how to lead?” Marvin rolls his eyes, tightening his grasp on Whizzer as he continues to move, his stare focused on their feet. The taller man’s voice is quiet when he speaks again, and Marvin can gently feel his back rumbling with the sound under his splayed fingers. “Mirror what I’m doing, so whenever I take a step, go with it.”

They move slowly, Whizzer’s fingers tightening around Marvin’s each time that the shorter man steps on his foot. Marvin frowns, his eyes still locked on their feet in a weak attempt to keep up with his lover. Whizzer pushes on his shoulder to steer them, his steps silent and light. 

He sends the shorter man into a clumsy spiral, and a laugh bubbles from Marvin’s lips. The dark haired man’s hand slides lower until it rests on Marvin’s waist, and he dips and raises their hands in a swinging tempo. They slide to the left, then the right, and then back again, switching directions intermittently. Whizzer smiles, the lines around his eyes crinkling in a way that melts Marvin’s core each time he sees it. The older man smiles up at him in return as the song draws to an end, light piano queueing in a much slower song. 

_ If you ever _

_ Change your mind _

_ About leavin’, leavin’ me behind _

_ Baby, bring it to me _

_ Bring your sweet lovin’ _

_ Bring it on home to me _

Whizzer squeezes Marvin’s waist gently, beginning to move in what the shorter man vaguely recognizes as a waltz. His grip on his lover’s shoulder tightens as he missteps once, then twice, then three times. Whizzer squeezes his hand gently, wincing each time his partner crushes his toes. He stumbles over Whizzer’s foot yet again, and the younger man inhales sharply as he squeezes Marvin’s hand even tighter.

Marvin exhales heavily, “Shit.”

Whizzer’s hand presses harder against Marvin’s waist as he presses their bodies closer, his voice soft when he speaks, “Look at me.” 

_ I know I laughed _

_ When you left _

_ But now I know only hurt myself _

_ Baby, bring it to me _

_ Bring your sweet lovin’ _

_ Bring it on home to me _

Marvin’s gaze lifts to meet his lover’s. Whizzer smiles gently down at him, his face soft, and the shorter man finds himself unable to look away from his warm brown eyes, a golden hue shining through from the dim light being cast from the lamp behind them. Marvin’s chest constricts, and something tingles in the bottom of his stomach. He clenches his jaw, looking away and pressing himself closer to the warm body in front of him. Whizzer hums along to the song, his body  rumbling against Marvin’s ear.

_ I’ll give you jewelry _

_ And money too _

_ That ain’t all, that ain’t all I’ll do for you _

_ Baby, if you bring it to me _

_ Bring your sweet lovin’ _

_ Bring it on home to me _

Their feet eventually sync up, the steps much smaller. They turn naturally, remaining in the same small area away from the low coffee table on which the record player sits. Marvin feels the tension leave his shoulders as he begins to relax. 

_ You know I’ll always _

_ Be your slave _

_ ‘Til I’m buried, buried in my grave _

_ Oh honey, bring it to me _

_ Bring your sweet lovin’ _

_ Bring it on home to me _

Marvin focuses on Whizzer’s steady breathing against him, pressing closer to his lover. Deep in his gut, he feels a pull, something magnetic and warm connecting him to the younger man. It makes Marvin’s heart pick up and his throat tighten, but he ignores it, tightening his grip on Whizzer’s shoulder instead. 

_ One more thing _

_ I tried _

_ To treat you right _

_ But you stayed out, stayed out late at night _

_ But I forgive you, bring it to me _

_ Bring your sweet lovin’ _

_ Bring it on home to me _

The song picks up to one of a faster tempo, but the two men continue to sway slowly in silence, Whizzer closing his eyes as he rests his cheek against Marvin’s. The shorter man melts against him, and they continue to float, neither saying anything. Whizzer hums along occasionally, the low notes quiet and clear. Marvin squeezes his lover’s hand gently, a gesture which Whizzer returns, and the older man can feel him smile against his cheek. Marvin closes his eyes, too, his mind pleasantly blank as he focuses on nothing besides the quiet rhythm of the music, the feel of his lover’s body against his, the sound of his gentle breathing in his ear. 

Horns begin to blare through the speakers, and Marvin springs away from the taller man, blood rushing through his ears. Whizzer looks up at him, his eyes still soft and unfocused as he reaches out to gather Marvin into his embrace again. The shorter man turns his face away from him, his eyes landing on the clock yet again. His mouth goes dry as the fog clears from his mind, and he breezes past the younger man as he goes to redress in the bedroom, his jaw set.

Behind him, the clock continues to tick further from midnight. 

He’s pulling his slacks on and zipping them back up when Whizzer appears in the doorway, leaning against it with crossed arms, still donning nothing but a pair of ill-fitting boxers a previous lover must have left. Marvin doesn’t look at him, pulling his belt through the loops of his pants. The music continues to play from the room over. He finally looks up at his lover once he’s pulling his suit jacket over his shoulders, looking him over once hungrily. They both look at one another for a moment, waiting for the other to break the silence

“What’s the rush?” Whizzer finally sneers. Marvin rolls his eyes as he slips his wedding ring back on.

He pushes past the man in the doorway, stopping only as Whizzer tugs on his collar. A chill runs down his spine, and he feels a faint tug in his stomach, but pushes the younger man off nonetheless. Whizzer presses against his back, his hands sliding under his jacket and looping around his waist loosely. 

“What do you think she’ll think about these?” the taller man’s tongue traces what Marvin can only assume is a hickey low on his neck. 

Marvin resists melting into his lovers strong embrace, buttoning up his top button stiffly,  “She won’t see.”

Whizzer hums against the dip of Marvin’s shoulder, his fingers working to undo the button Marvin had just fixed, and two more. The shorter man clenches his jaw, closing his eyes as he sinks into his lover’s arms. Whizzer sucks another mark into his skin before Marvin regains focus, pulling himself away.

“I have to go.”

Whizzer detangles himself from Marvin, taking a few long strides into the kitchen, where he crouches in front of a cabinet. He retrieves a bottle filled with amber liquid, a glass placed haphazardly above the neck.

Marvin watches the younger man pour himself a glass of whiskey, downing it in one drink before pouring himself another. Whizzer gestures the bottle at Marvin, but he shakes his head, simply watching. Whizzer shrugs and pours himself another glass, which he drinks slower this time. Their eyes connect once again, and Marvin feels that tingle in the bottom of his stomach and the tips of his fingers and toes again, but he ignores it. 

Whizzer raises a critical eyebrow at him over the brim of his glass, “Don’t you have a loving wife to get home to, Mr. Marvin?”

Marvin swallows heavily, breaking eye contact as he searches his pockets for his car keys. They jingle against his wedding ring, cold metal hitting cold metal. He fishes them out, tightening his fist around the base of the keys as he keeps his eyes trained on the floor. The room is enveloped in a tense silence, the sloshing of whiskey against glass as Whizzer refills his drink and the blood rushing in Marvin’s ears echoing loudly.

Marvin crumbles, finally raising his eyes back up to the taller man standing across from him. Whizzer’s gaze is steady and challenging as he swirls the liquid in the glass. They stare at each other for a moment longer before Marvin feels that pull in his gut again and he moves towards the door, the heels of his dress shoes clacking loudly against the wood flooring.

He hears Whizzer inhale sharply behind him and he stalls for a moment, waiting for the other man to say something. Marvin’s palm closes around the doorknob and he swings the door open with a huff, pulling his coat around his arms tighter. 

“Maybe you can finally have that first dance with your wife,” Whizzer’s cutting remark barely registers in Marvin’s mind before he’s slamming the heavy door behind him, the sound reverberating across the empty hallway. 

Marvin stands in front of the closed door for a moment, pinching his eyes. He can still hear music playing in Whizzer’s apartment, and as he stalls he feels that pull in his stomach again. He shivers, heart heavy, and he pulls his jacket tighter around his arms as he begins to move towards the stairs at the other end of the corridor. Behind him, he hears a door open. 

He doesn’t look back, but he can feel Whizzer’s eyes burning into the back of his skull even after he exits the apartment complex.

Marvin snaps the door of his car closed. He shivers in the frigid air of the vehicle, and the car rumbles to life, the radio beginning to blare loudly. He turns the volume down with a cringe before changing the station, his breathing stilling as Sam Cooke sings to him about always being in love again.

Marvin looks down at the dim clock on his dashboard. 12:43 AM. He feels his chest deflate, and he closes his eyes and rests his head against the wheel.

He lets the song play. 


End file.
